The Abbeville messenger. (Abbeville, S.C.) 1884-1887, 1887-02-01

hair stood upon end. A stupor followed
this fear and n trance-like slumber.
How long I remained in this condition ]
knew not ut tho time, but we'll do I re-
member the awakening from the france.
My nervous system was totally %dcrangcd,
my hands refused to do service; in fact
I had not the strength to light q match
to look at my watch. With a groan !
sank back upon my bed of snow. ]
tried to sleep, but in vain. All 1 could
do was to think. Had I seen Ludwig
Won u, or his spirit? the real man OF
a phantom2
At last relief came. 1 could not be
mistaken. I heard the footsteps of q
small body of mon. They approached
the shed. Yes, but not with the steady
tread of the soldier. Heavens! could it
be the Franctireurs, those bloodthirsty
guerrillas and hyenas of the battlefield |
l tried to fortify myself for an attack.
I tried to arouse my physical self. Be-
fore I could rise or make a move the
door of the shed was rudcly opened.
A rough face showed itself. 1t was that
of the leader of n noted guerrilla band.
The Franctircur entered. He mp.
preached, cooked his revolver, and said
with mock politeness, in broken Ger
man: "Monsieur, prepare to die"
Making IN effort to reach my W
weapon, at this moment I was
startled by the words; "Not he, but
you!"
Looking up I saw the pallid and
frightened face of the Franctircur, md
by his side-could it be possible g.
Lieut.. Won L., pointing a pistol al
the heart of the assassin. The excite
ment proved too much for my shattered
nerves, and just rs I heard the explosion
Of n pistol I lost consciousness.
When I revived it was 8 o'clock in the
morning. BY my side stood Maj. NJ,
commander of the advanced ~outposts,
and a detachment of Saxon infantry.
"Well done, my lad" said tho Major,
and with that he pointed to an object
lying by my side covered with q fed
blanket.
"What do you mean, Major Z" I in
quircd family, not understanding his re-
mark.
: "Wcll, I mean that you have dis
patched the worst hound of q guerrilla
who ever disgraccd a country"
Like q flash the mysterious appar:tion
presented itself to my mind, and hastily
calling a Corporal I babe him extract the
bullet from the dead Franctireur's
wound. Then I produced my revolver
and found that not q shot had been fired
from it. I compared the bullets used by
me with that extracted from the wound.
They were of different weight. The
mystery was unsolved. Who had shot
my encmy7
The battle predicted by the staff off
Ger was not fought ON that day, and 1
was glad of it, Tor the exciting scenes of
the previous night compelled me to rest
for some time. On the fifth day after
my adventure I received q letter from
Saxony. Here it is:
"MY DEAR SIR, Our dear son Lud-
wig breathcd his last at four this NOM
ing. Upon his arrival here the doctors
pronounced his case hopeless. Up to s
o'clock last evening his recover seemed
assured. AT that hour he suddenly grew
restless, called out your name three or
four times and exclaiming, Beware of
the Franctircurs |" fell into a deep slum-
Der or trance. He remained in this con-
dition until 3 O'Clock, when he arose up
with n start, fell back upon the bed un-
conscious, and ut 4 o'clock died in his
mothers arms.
"With best wishes,
"Tour obcdient servant,
GEORGE ALEXANDER Won L."
My story is finished. I need only add
that the ball extracted from the body Of
the Franctireur correspondent in weight
with those in the revolver of my deceased
friend, and this discovery made the mys.
terry still darker.
Up to this day I cannot explain the
strange transpirings of that night before
Paris. Can you2-Detriot Free Press.
Where Beer Runs In Rills.
Hartman says in his new book: "What